


To Keep Moving

by yourdykeinshiningarmor



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Healing, Mental Health Issues, Podfic Welcome, Post-Mad Max: Fury Road, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:36:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourdykeinshiningarmor/pseuds/yourdykeinshiningarmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rules of the Wasteland dictate that to survive you have to keep moving. This is why Max never stays in one place for long and Furiosa has spent most of her life looking for a way to escape her forced imprisonment. But what do you do when in order to keep moving forward you have to stay still?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be my little journey through the post-fury road world as both lives and cities are rebuilt. There will be eventual Max/Furiosa but it will likely be slow. I am also writing this in small bits as I can so I make no guarantee about posting frequency or chapter size but I can promise you that I won't leave this unfinished. I just wanted to be up front about this in case WIPs aren't your thing. I will update tags and ratings as I go. This is not beta-read so apologizes in advance for any mistakes but feel free to point them out so I can fix them!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the ride and thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE 16 OCT 15: Hopefully got all the tenses changed over to present since that is apparently what this fic wants to be written lol. If I missed any, please let me know!

Max can't help it; he feels the platform lifting and he quietly slips away. Cheering crowds and unfettered glory aren't really his thing, even on the best of days, even during the Before. He slides through the writhing mass of the Wretched, his passage unmarked and uninhibited.

About halfway through the crowd, Max turns back and takes one last glance up at the platform. Furiosa has already noticed his absence and manages to catch his eye on her way up. She gives a questioning look for half a second but ultimately she nods in understanding. He isn't a creature meant for the city, too many unending days and tortuous nights spent alone in the desert with only his demons to keep him company.

When Max comes back to himself, he finds that he is in one of the lower garages, the motorbike in front of him already topped up on water and guzzoline. He even has a container of ration packs, not that he remembers finding it. He scavenges the room for any useful spare parts and tools to stuff in the panniers before finally climbing on. He hesitates for just a moment, wondering if someone is going to hear the rumble and chase after him, but the cheers of the Wretched bouncing off the walls of the city are far louder than the roar of an engine. He turned on the ignition and fangs it out of the garage, not bothering to look back at what he’s leaving. Once he clears the Citadel, he opens the throttle and tries not to think about the eyes, vision half-blocked by swollen and bruised skin, that he knows are following his dust trail out into the open desert.

Max rides for several hours straight, the sun already dipping low in the horizon, before he realizes where he is heading. The pass is still several days ride away but the guttural need to find  _ his _ car has caused him to veer towards the path he’s traveled twice in the past week. He’s taking a more roundabout way, gently circling around the base of the mountains, but his destination has slowly become clear to him. He knows it’s likely a bad idea, the Rock Riders are no doubt done with the antics of outsiders, but it’s like a part of himself is missing without the interceptor.

Without warning, Max sees something dart in front of the motorbike. He registers too late that it’s just Glory and has already sent himself spinning and sliding around until both man and bike come to rest on their sides. Max lay still for several minutes until he catches his breath and does a mental inventory of possible injuries before he hauls himself upright. He’s escaped unscathed although his brace is a little bent and presses uncomfortably into the side of his thigh and calf. As he dusts off his pants and jacket he can hear Glory giggling in the distance.

“Where are you going, Max?” she asks, her voice for once light with the innocence of youth.

Max looks up at her, his head cocked to the side. Her unaccusing tone unsettles him more than the oft repeated question.

Glory quirks her head back at him before turning towards the way he’s come. 

“Where are you going, Max?” she repeats. When she faces him again, her gaze on him is anxious, as if she doesn't want to continue on their current path, as if she really is here with him, flesh and blood, on this journey.

Max thinks for half a minute before he takes a deep breath and grunts a reply back at her, ignoring the way her face breaks into a wide smile. He strides back over to the bike and is relieved to find that nothing is broken or damaged. He hauls it upright and climbs astride it, seeing Glory skipping merrily ahead of him through his tire tracks. He doesn’t always understand what his ghosts are trying to tell him, but he has learned their personalities over the years. He’s also learned the hard way (as if there is any other way for him) that the more out of character they act, the more he’d better listen to them. 

Max accelerates back across the desert, altering his course slightly to take him directly to the Citadel instead of skirting around it. As he ruminates on the myriad of reasons why he could be encouraged to the return (hoping that reality has nothing to do with trouble in the city and everything to do with saving his skin from Rock Riders or Buzzards that are ahead), he can't ignore the unadulterated glee that bubbles forth from Glory as she dances about the edges of his vision. While most of him itches with panic at simply the thought of being within those walls again, he can't deny that a tiny piece deep inside him is near giddy at the thought of seeing  _ her _ again. It isn't something that he would allow himself to fully acknowledge, life out here in the Wasteland is too forsaken for that, but he knows it was there all the same. As he speeds on, Max just hopes he’s making the right decision.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 16 OCT 15: also updated this chapter with the tense change and all the friggin' errors I left in there. The pitfalls of proofreading yourself :-/ If you see anything I missed, please let me know!

It’s near midnight by the time the lights of the Citadel become visible on the horizon. The quiet of the desert night allowed sounds to carry farther but Max rides on; he slows his approach as the city, still several miles away, begins to loom ahead of him. He ignores the fact that the nearer he gets, the more his skin crawls, but now that he’s this close, even he can sense the  _ something _ that’s pulling him back. He doesn't know if it’s his latent desire to help, something to do with  _ her _ , or some other reason entirely, but the feeling humming through his veins is similar to yet entirely different from the adrenaline usually coursing there. He thinks it might just be as addictive too.

He sees a small outcropping of rock ahead and veers towards it. In the dim moonlight, he can just see Glory clambering up some of the smaller boulders, her giggles still ringing through the air. Max circles the mound until he finds a suitable crevice to tuck the motorbike into; he’s close enough to the Citadel that he isn't worried about Buzzards or scavengers finding it, and his anxieties are eased knowing he has an escape vehicle if things go tits up, either within the city or in his head. Immortan Joe stole his V8; Max has no qualms about stealing a simple motorbike.

Max pulls out his pack and stuffs it with a few essentials. The city seems close, but he is no stranger the perceived distances of the desert. He will be lucky if he reaches the Citadel before morning. He gives his supplies one last look before concealing the bike. He has no doubt that the desert will hide it even better over the next few days, but for now it’s plenty well camouflaged. 

The Citadel looms ahead, a bright beacon with its fires and lamplight against the dark backdrop of desert and night sky. He walks for hours with only the changing position of the stars above him to mark the passage of time. He’d keeps an eye out for patrols or lurking enemies as he walks, not wanting to be misjudged or captured. Max can see the faintest tendrils of light over the eastern horizon when he hears hushed words from small dune up ahead to his left. He pauses, listening to the voices, and his lips twitch with the barest hint of a smile at hearing a familiar voice. 

"You're only to use the lamps and mirrors for signaling. Your eyes will get used to the dark. Besides, it will be morning soon enough. Understood?"

Max doesn't hear a response but assumes they've nodded in the affirmative. He hears someone rearranging the contents on a bike and uses the noise to creep closer.

"I'm going to head back in. Here are your rations. Replacements will be out before dark. It's ok to rest if you need to, just make sure at least two of you are awake at time."

This time, Max is close enough to hear mumbled responses. He hesitates for just moment but ultimately pushes himself over the top of the dune and purposefully makes noise as he skids down the sand. As he comes to a halt at the bottom, he clearly keeps his hands raised and head down as he takes several tentative steps forward. The chorus of guns cocking make him pause but he continues forward slowly until he can make out her face through his lashes knowing that then she will be able to see his too.

When Max finally stops and looks up, he sees her surrounded by a half-circle of War Boys (well maybe one or two actual War Boys, the rest are just some of the older War Pups), all with guns or lances raised at him. He doesn't have to guess how many are already cocked and ready to fire; he knows they all are. He finally makes eye contact with her and tries to say something in greeting but all that comes out is a stunted growl. He swallows, takes a breath, and tries again.

“Toast,” he rasps. Max watches as she narrows her eyes, levels her own sawed-off shot gun at him, and cocks it.

“You bastard,” she finally says. “You left. Thought you would help us, Max.”

Max flinches at the words and can’t deny the look of pain in her eyes and the fresh set of bruises mottling her skin. He’s momentarily caught off guard at how drastically their attitudes towards each other have changed in just a handful of days, but he supposes a life-or-death chase then an equally harried race across the Wasteland will do that to people. He still feels the tug-of-war within his own mind at hightailing it out of their as fast as he can go versus staying to help the newly minted leaders of the Citadel get settled and squared away. Trained fighters, drivers, and mechanics are never something you can have enough of nowadays. 

“Max?” Toast asks tentatively.

It’s only then that he realizes he’d been quiet within his own mind for far longer than most people are comfortable with. “Sorry, mmm,” he mumbles. He’s never been one for words nor does he like lies. “Needed… hmm.” He frowns.

Toast lowers her gun and the War Boys behind her grudgingly follow suit. “It’s alright,” she says and takes a step towards him. “You’re still a bastard, but it’s alright.”

Max drops his hands as he nods, but his focus has shifted to the War Boys who, while no longer pointing guns at him, haven’t bothered to put the safeties on either. 

“Weren’t you the one who kicked Immortan Joe’s body off the Gigahorse?” one of the finally asks.

He stiffens and a grunt in the affirmative is all the reply Max gives.

“Did you kill him, too?” another asks, voice just a bit awed.

This time Max grunts in the negative. “Furiosa.”

The War Boys mumble amongst themselves and Max’s ear catches a few of the works like ‘Immortan Furiosa’ and ‘Imperator Max’. It doesn't take long for Toast to put a stop to it all.

“Alright, enough.” Toast turns to the little band. “Those of you heading back, climb in. There’s still plenty of work to do at the Citadel.” She turns back to Max. “You coming too?”

He dances back and forth on his feet before he groans and nods his head. 

“Good, you can drive then.” Toast points to a small two-seater truck. It’s definitely not one of the impressive pursuit vehicles or transport rigs, but something used to move supplies and people sort distances. She walks over and climbs in the passenger seat. The bed is already full of the returning War Boys.

Max frowns at seeing Glory’s head hovering over the top of the cab, feet planted on the bed and hands gripping the overhead tie bars. To say her smile is unsettling is an understatement. He steps towards the vehicle and slips in, the door long since removed from the frame. He turns the key on the ignition and grimaces at the whine of the belts as the four-cylinders inside the engine crank to life. His mechanic fingers are already twitching to get under the bonnet and tinker with it.

“You can be a blackthumb later,” Toast calls over the noise of the engine. “Personally, I’d rather be back to the Citadel before full-light.”

He gives her a half-hearted glare as he throws the engine in gear and pulls away. It doesn't take more than fifteen minutes to reach the platform at the plodding pace that the truck manage. Max imagines that a motorbike or pursuit vehicle could make it in less than five if they were fanging it. As the platform rises, Max feeling his grip on the wheel tighten and knuckles turn War Boy white with the effort. Even once it stops, he can't seem to peel himself away, body too strung up with the need to bolt and feeling every bit as trapped as when he was last here as a bloodbag. 

Toast is already directing several of the War Boys in what needs to be done, when Max sees Capable’s bright red hair come bounding down the hallway, stopping only when she reaches Toast. The two talk in hushed tones, but he isn’t paying them any mind until Glory skips over to stand next to the two women. When she glances over to him and smiles, he  _ knows  _ something is wrong. Max practically falls from the cab and is already halfway to them when Toast turns towards him.

“Max,” Toast says unable to keep the distress from her voice. “It’s Furiosa.”

“Her chest,” Capable supplies. “She’s having trouble breathing again.”

Max’s forehead furrows and he feels something vaguely familiar stirring in his chest, same as when she’d nearly died in the back of the Gigahorse. He knows he has to do something, even if every time he helps, someone still dies; they only come back to haunt him until the end of his days. 

“Take me,” he says curtly.

Capable nods and turns back the way she came. 

The journey seems to take forever, meandering through a maze of stairs, corridors, and open rooms. He can't help the hitch in his step when they enter the hydroponics bay. Max hasn’t seen this much green in many years, not since that fateful day at the beach house after he’d lost Jessie and the Sproglet. He runs to catch up, stopping only when they come to large round metal door bolted into the rock itself. 

_ The Vault _ . 

He’s never seen it but had heard it referred to during his days as a bloodbag. The door is full open now and, as he ducks inside, he sees it has become a makeshift infirmary. There are War Boys and Wretched alike stacked all over the room in whatever available space they need. It looks as if a fight had broken out after he’d left, but judging by the fact that the Wives are still running around, he guesses they’ve won. He catches a glimpse of Cheedo tending a frightened War Pup with one of the surviving Vuvalini.

He follows the girls into one of the smaller chambers that looks to be a former bedroom of sorts but isn't quite ready for the sight before him. Furiosa is laid out on the bed, prosthetic arm removed and a poor attempt made to clean her up. Her swollen face looks even worse and there are fresh bruises and cuts on her face and arms from the skirmish she no doubt couldn't stay out of. Dag sits at the head of the bed, Furiosa gently cradled against her chest. She strokes the short hair on Furiosa’s head as tears silently run down her cheeks. Furiosa takes a short, rattling breath and lets it out. Max stands there staring for several seconds before he catches sight of a curly-haired head in the corner and his heart skips a beat, before continuing on in double time. He realizes, with the increasingly longer silence, that he’s just witnessed Furiosa’s last breath.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently this fic has decided that it wants to be written in present tense, even though I usually write in past tense. So just in case anyone cares, I wanted to apologize for the sudden change in tense. I will fix the past two chapters so the fic is all the same. Apologies also if I occasionally slip up and revert to past tense. Tenses really are the bane of my existence.

Max is halfway across the room, boot knife drawn, before anyone registers his presence. He only realizes it himself when a pair of pale arms wraps around him and pin his limbs to his side. He struggles against the pressure and the knife clatters to the floor. Some still cognizant part of his brain registers that if this person is here, they are a friend; he only fights to get free instead of the overpower/injure/kill that is the normal end goal of his fights.

“Stop!” a voice booms from the doorway.

Max ceases his struggles and he feels the arms encircling him slacken slightly.

“Let him go,” says one of the Vuvalini. “He’s trying to save her.”

The pale arms hold on a moment longer before dropping away; Max dips down to retrieve his knife before closing the distance to Furiosa. Dag has slipped out from behind her and maneuvered Furiosa until she was flat on the bed. Max quickly taps a few locations on her chest and mutters an apology under his breath, but the tip of the blade is between her ribs before he has even finished. Her chest falls as the air hisses out. He feels someone squeeze his shoulder and press a short length of tubing followed by some adhesive tape that has to be from Before into his hands. The tubing slips in easily along his blade and he is grateful for the old but functional one-way valve attached to the end of the tubing. Immortan Joe may have been a bastard, but he’d at least kept a decent amount of medical supplies in good order.

As Max secures the chest tube, he watches her chest, willing it to rise again on its own. As the seconds tick by he feels his heart racing ahead again.

“No no no no no,” he mumbles, voice laced with panic. He leans forward and presses his ear to Furiosa’s chest; the silence makes his blood run cold. He sits up and starts compressing her chest, the long unused knowledge bubbling up from the deepest recesses of his brain. Compressions. Breathe. Check for a heartbeat. He repeats the cycle over and over, unwilling to give up. The room has grown silent, only his grunts and the quiet, unintelligible words falling from lips fill the space. 

Just as he is beginning to lose hope, as his body is screaming out from the effort to stop, Furiosa sucks in a breath. Max stops and watches as she takes in a second breath, followed by a third. He places his ear to her chest again, smiling widely at the staccato rhythm he hears and feels below him. He continues to listen until her heart rate evens out and her breathing has returned to normal. When Max finally lifts his head, he can see she is already falling back into a forced slumber, body too exhausted to even attempt true consciousness.

“Come,” says the same Vuvalini, a hand gently pulling him away.

The panic wells up in Max’s chest at the thought of leaving her again and pushes the hand away. When he spins around, he sees the room had been cleared of everyone except Dag and the Vuvalini Mother.

“I’m not going to make you leave, boy,” she placates, pointing to the other bed in the room. “Just sleep. You need rest as much as she does.”

Max blinks at her several times before nodding. He glances at Furiosa once more, watching as Dag tucks the blanket around her and makes sure she is as comfortable as possible, before stumbling over towards the other bed. It seems that this is one emergency too many for Max’s body to handle; the events of the last several days combined with his captivity in the Citadel have finally caught up with him. He flops onto the bed and lies on his side facing the door, fingers resting near one of his knives out of habit. He figures he can lay here for a few hours and rest, but he doesn't think he could truly sleep within the walls of the Citadel. Later on, he will tell himself that it isn’t technically sleep when your body betrays you and you have basically passed out from exhaustion. He closes his eyes, listening to voices drifting in from the main room. The last thing he remembers hearing is Cheedo telling a story to frightened War Pup that the Vuvalini is treating. Then, it is only darkness.

——————-

_ “Max.” _

_ “Where are you going, Max?” _

_ “Max Rockatansky.” _

_ “I thought you would help us!” _

_ “Where are you, Max?” _

_ “Max! Help us!” _

_ “MAX!” _

Max shoots upright in his bed, knife drawn and a snarl on his lips. Visions of the dead and dying still swim across his vision and their voices bounce off the dark recesses of his brain. They are dulled slightly by returning consciousness but there nonetheless. His breath comes in short gasps, but it levels out as his eyes adjust and he becomes more aware of his surroundings. 

_ Citadel. The Vault. Furiosa. _

It’s dark in the main chamber and Max guesses it must be night again already. He’d somehow managed to sleep away the day. From the other side of the room he can hear Furiosa’s breathing, still a little harsh, but slow and steady. Max shakes his head in an effort to dispel his ghosts but it only seems to anger them instead, their voices calling out louder than before.

He pushes himself to his feet and walks the short distance to her bed. He  _ needs _ to check on her, to feel her pulse, the rise and fall of her chest, to  _ know _ she’s alive. He falls to his knees at her bedside and his hand snakes around her wrist, happy to feel the strong, steady thrum below his fingertip. Relief washes over him and his head dips down until it rests on his forearm; he can just barely feel the fabric of her shirt ruffling his hair as she breaths.

“Furiosa,” he whispers, his fingers tightening slightly around her wrist. He doesn’t know why he is this drawn to her, why he can’t walk away like he has done countless times in the past. He can’t let himself get this close to anyone; it only leads to death and sorrow. And even if she feels the same about him, why would she stay once she finds out how broken and fucked up he is? He would be better off leaving now, before she wakes, before she can see him returning to the feral creature he was out the Wasteland. The desert is his home now, alone with just his demons for company. It isn't until he thinks about them that Max realizes that his ghosts have stopped talking; he looks up and still sees them floating at the edges of his vision but they are gratefully silent. Their words have become the white noise of his mind for so long that it’s almost disconcerting to hear nothing, but the new level of peace he is suddenly feeling is well worth it.

Max stands and hesitates for half a moment before returning to his bed for the blanket. The whispers start up as soon as he’s away from her but calm again once he returns. The bed isn’t large but it’ll just fit two people if he lays on his side right up next to her. He knows he shouldn’t get complacent just because he is in the Citadel but somehow her presence is luring him down. He won’t stay long; he just needs a small amount of peace within his mind, a few hours of real rest, then he can face his demons and whatever the Wastelands can throw at him with renewed vigor. Carefully, he adjusts his position, near enough to feel the warmth of her body but still enough a space that he doesn't have to worry about agitating her injuries. He sighs and, while he will deny it later, is asleep again almost as soon as his eyes close. What he doesn't notice as he drifts off is the first real deep breath from Furiosa and the way her body twitches just the tiniest bit closer to him.


	4. Chapter 4

Furiosa opens her eyes and instantly regrets it. She slams them shut against the early morning light and tries to take a deep breath; she instantly regrets that too. She gives herself a moment, then tentatively opens her eyes again and isn’t surprised to find that only one of them really works. The right is still swollen shut after the race back to the Citadel. Furiosa systematically moves through her body, flexing and straining, to see what else is damaged. Beyond some general soreness and what will undoubtedly be a fantastic set of bruises, she doesn’t find anything new.

She takes another measured breath, slowly expanding her chest as far as she can; broken ribs are nothing new to her. She winces near the end of the breath, but ultimately knows that she needs to do this. It’-s a bit of pain now or a good shot at developing pneumonia later. 

Furiosa lets her hand fall to the bed from where it's resting on her stomach. She frowns at the feeling of slightly warm bedding under her fingers, knowing she didn’t just roll over from that side of the bed. As she ponders it, a jumble of half-forgotten memories begin to trickle in from what she suspects has been several days. 

_ A warm body nearby on the bed but not pressing into her... a bodyguard of sorts.  _

_ The encroaching darkness as breathing became impossible. _

_ The discomfort of forced movement, even when gently done, and the searing pain of a chest tube coming out. _

_ A brief, but intense battle with Corpus and his War Boys. _

_ The back of the Gigahorse when another sharp pain brings her back from the brink and warmth flows up her arm and back through her body. _

_ A name whispered reverently, given as a gift to a dying woman. _

It’s this last memory that sticks with Furiosa and causes her the most confusion. Why would he choose that moment to tell her his name? 

“Only one way to find out,” she mumbles to herself.

Furiosa shakes her head to clear it but only ends up grimacing. She takes another measured breath, pushes up with her stub, and tries to catch herself on her arm but only to ends up on her back again moments later. She must have cried out because Cheedo comes rushing in.

“Furiosa, are you alright?” her soft voice full of concern.

“Mmm,” Furiosa moans.

“Can I get you something?”

Furiosa shakes her head. “Eh,” she grunts. After a moment, she realizes that she is communicating like the Fool. “Citadel?” she finally asks, already positioning her body for another attempt at going upright.

Cheedo shrugs. “The city’s a little worse for the wear but still ours.” She steps closer and leans down to help Furiosa up. After several curses and a sheen of sweat on Furiosa’s forehead that they both ignore, she crams a couple of pillows behind Furiosa for support. Cheedo takes a seat on the edge of the bed near her feet.

“Max?” Furiosa asks tentatively once her breathing is settled again. The question as much to confirm the name and discover his status.

Cheedo frowns and looks at her hands folded neatly in her lap.

For a moment, Furiosa fears the worst.

“He left,” she whispers and finally looks up at Furiosa. “Gone not five minutes before you woke up.” She twists the stained fabric of her shirt and laughs. “He said you’d wake up soon, grabbed his bag, and walked out. Didn’t think he meant this soon.”

“How long?” Furiosa leans her head against the wall and closes her eyes.

“You’ve been out three days.” Cheedo adds in a whisper, “and he didn't leave you once that whole time.”

They sit in silence. Furiosa knows there’s more she isn’t telling her, but she is too tired to care. Breathing is a little easier like this and she quickly falls back into slumber.

——————-

Most of the next two days is spent battling her body’s need for sleep with her mind’s need for consciousness. Furiosa’s attitude, while not exactly friendly on a good day, is quickly deteriorating with each day she spends convalescing. 

Just when she thinks she is going to lose her mind, Capable comes in.

“You feel up for a visitor?”

“I feel up for a fight,” Furiosa groans at her.

Capable just smiles and gestures to someone in the other room.

Furiosa’s jaw about hits the floor when a grizzled white-painted body walks in. The sunburn and blisters are visible to her, even through the white chalk, and he’s bruised to hell, but somehow still able to walk.

“Ace?” she asks, picking herself up from where she’s leaning back against the wall.

The man just gives her a half-smile as he sits on a chair in the corner. “Hey, Boss.”

The two stare at each other in silence, ignorant of Capable slipping out.

“Where— How did— Did any—” Furiosa stumbles over all the questions she wants to ask. Eventually she just hangs her head. “I’m sorry.”

Ace just shrugs. “It’s alright.”

“But I tried to  _ kill _ you!” Furiosa bellows. “I drove right next to that tornado and  _ watched _ as each and every one of you was pulled off the War Rig!”

He just shrugs again. Ace sits quietly for several minutes, his brow furrowed deep in thought. When he speaks again, his voice is serious for all the softness of it.

“Just because I lived under him for most of my life, doesn’t mean I liked it, Boss. It was better than the alternative, sure, but that alone doesn't make it good.” He huffs a laugh. “Old habits aren’t just gonna go away, but things already seem better.”

Furiosa just stares at him, unable to completely comprehend how he hasn’t already put a knife to her throat for going rogue and leaving him for dead.

As if reading her thoughts, Ace just smiles his crooked smile. “Best thing that ever happened to me was getting put on your crew. And, if you’re still needing me, I’d be happy to join it again.”

Furiosa shakes her head but can’t stop the grin pulling at her lips.

Ace stands, raises his hands above his head, and interlaces his fingers, before bowing his head slightly. “V8, Boss.” He gives her one more smile before heading back out to the main room.

Furiosa relaxes, just a little bit, for the first time in days.

***

Ace returns in the morning with Furiosa’s arm and her cleaning kit, along with a few small projects of his own. They spend it mostly in silence, only speaking when one needs a tool the other has. It’s well into the evening when Furiosa finally gets the courage to ask.

“What did Max do?” She sets her arm aside, done with tinkering for the day.

“Max?” Ace tilts his head.

“Nux’s bloodbag.” No clue. “The man who returned with us to the Citadel.” Still nothing. “The man who stayed with me for the first few days.” That brought about some recognition.

“What about him?”

“Cheedo said he didn't leave my side for three days, but I get the feeling that it was more than just that. Everytime I ask, though, everyone goes quiet.”

Ace takes a breath. “He saved your life. You couldn’t breathe, stopped breathing. He came running in here and stabbed you. And when you still didn't breathe, he pushed on your chest until you did.” Ace frowns. “Thought he was trying to kill you at first, and then I thought he was crazy as I watched, but he brought you back. Didn’t think that was possible.”

Furiosa is taken aback. He’s prevented her death not once, but twice, even bringing her back to life the second time. She’d read about being able to do that in some of the books Joe kept in the Vault but never thought she would get to experience it. Seems she owes this fool quite a lot. As Furiosa drifts deeper into thought, Ace gathers up their tools and silently takes his leave.

——————-

“I don’t care what I  _ should _ be doing,” Furiosa yells and throws one of her pillows at the doorway. “If I don’t get out of here soon, I  _ am _ going to kill something.” She’s been awake for nearly a week and is still immensely sore but can (mostly) see with both her eyes and has managed to walk herself to the sand pot a handful of times now.

“The second we let you out of our sight, someone’s going to find you under a car or settling a fight.” Capable crosses her arms and the look she gives Furiosa  _ dares _ her to contradict what she’s said.

Furiosa just grunts and crosses her own arms. Perhaps Max was onto something with the non-verbal communication techniques.

Several minutes tick by before Capable speaks again. “A small group, a council of sorts, is meeting tonight. If I let you come, will you promise to stay here a little longer?”

“Mmm,” is the only response Furiosa gives as she continues to glare at Capable. 

“Use your words or you can’t go.” Capable raises her eyebrows but quickly ducks to avoid the second pillow. “Fine, suit yourself,” she calls as she turns and marches down the hallway.

Furiosa hates it, hates that she is dependent on others, that these women conspire against her and plot to keep her here. She gladly ignores for the moment that they do it because they actually do care. Furiosa grabs another pillow and chucks it at the wall with a snarl on her lips.

“Fine!” she yells after Capable.

A warm smile appears in the doorway a moment later. “I’ll be back before sundown then.” This time she laughs and catches the projectile pillow before walking out of the room.

Furiosa stews for another few minutes before resigning herself to a short nap before the meeting. No doubt the journey there and back will take everything she has. It is only then that she realizes that she no more pillows to sleep with.


	5. Chapter 5

Max has been gone for twenty-five days. He mostly keeps to the Wastelands but stops a few times in Gas Town and Bullet Farm. He tells himself it’s for supplies and provisions but he can’t stop himself from making a few discreet inquiries about the state of the Citadel. Far as anyone can tell, things aren't much different. Mother's Milk and Aqua-Cola come while guzzoline or weapons leave. The change of power at each of the cities isn’t painless and no one seems eager to try to overtake the other, having enough of their own issues to deal with. Seems as long as they continue to get the needed resources from the others, they are content to let things be. Max is glad since, even if wanted to, his demons don’t let him stay long if a situation needed his attention. His demons get more belligerent the longer he’s around people. Seems they like the openness of the desert as much as he does.

Now he stands at the top of an outcropping, the pass he’d gone through a month ago visible in the distance. Even from here, he can see that the vehicles are still there, mostly untouched. He knows it’s a risk to go there alone, but he needs spare parts bad, both for repairs and trade, and with any luck there might be some guzzoline left too. He doesn't even entertain the idea that the V8 has survived, or if it has, that it will be salvageable; that would be a stroke of luck indeed.

Max shifts his weight to take the pressure of the brace off his leg. Despite his best efforts, he hasn’t been able to bend the metal back into shape after the bike crash nor has he found suitable replacement parts at any of the settlements he’s visited. He has wrapped a few layers of scrap leather around the trouble spots, but it still digs in and there’s some pressure sores now. He takes it off when he can, but out here, he can’t leave it off for long. 

As if to prove his point, one of his ghosts, a sad woman with a bloody body and missing half her face, goes screaming in the other direction. He glances over his shoulder at the distant rumble of an engine and is happy to see that, for once, the dust trail is going away from him.

The thought that he could always go back to the Citadel to resupply and fix things comes unbidden to his brain. Furiosa and the girls would likely give him whatever he needs, but he doesn't want to rely on the charity of others. He grunts in frustration and stomps his way back to the bike.

Max kicks the bike back to life and flies over the edge of ridge, perhaps a little more reckless than he should, but he doesn’t care. He needs supplies and no one is going to get them unless he gets them himself. He tears across the flat open space and into the canyon. There is no way he can hide his presence on the bike or carry out enough supplies in stealth on foot, so he just goes as fast as he can. Once he’s there, he makes quick work of it, siphoning off gas from totaled vehicles and pulling parts off the abandoned bikes.

Even as he works, his eyes dart around looking for threats and evaluating if it would be worth a salvage mission to recover the wrecked vehicles. The Rock Riders will have no use for most of this and will probably let someone else go through the hassle of moving it all. His eyes catch movement and he sees Glory scaling the edge of the pass. She’s been awfully effervescent lately, ever since his escape really, and he can’t make heads or tails of it. He shakes his head and gets back to work.

Judging by the state of the vehicles, not many people survived the crash and those that did seemed inclined to fight it out. As Max looks around, he ignores the remnants of the dead; their bones are already picked clean from scavengers and bleached white by the sun. That is, until he comes around to the front of the War Rig. He’d driven right past it to get to the smaller cars and bikes left behind it, but now he stops on his way out of the canyon. Not far from the cab is a set of bones that can only belong to Nux. The skeleton is turned up towards the sky, mouth hanging open in a macabre grin that makes Max smile nonetheless. They’d Witnessed him as he overturned the trailer; Max hopes he found his way to Valhalla.

Max climbs into the Rig and is surprised to find that it’s mostly intact. Beat to hell sure, but definitely salvageable. He grabs a bag from the back and picks up the scattered tools. A quick peek at the engines confirms that the most difficult part will be turning the rig upright. He supposes he should take the news back to the Citadel, but he can’t quite resign himself to going back, not yet; the place still gives him the creeps even with Joe gone. He knows it’s ridiculous but can’t shake the eerie feeling he gets. Max ignores the thoughts about  _ her _ . 

He’s making his way back to the bike when a bullet sings past his ear and ricochets off the bumper of the rig. Max ducks and double-times it to the bike, jumping on and kick starting it in one fluid motion. Dirt and gravel rooster tail behind him as the wheels spin and the bike takes off through the canyon. Shots continue to ring out and Max swerves, both trying to avoid the bullets and to make himself a harder target. He knows it will take him longer to get out, but a straight line is easier to hit.

_ Where are you going, Max? _

He can’t see them, not properly, but they dance at the edge of his vision, taunting him. 

_ Help us, Max! _

He glances behind him to check for pursuit. When he turns back around, he drives right through a father holding his dead child as if in offering to him. 

_ Thought you were going to help us! _

His heart beats even faster than it already is; he hates it when they do that. Even though he has seen their faces a million times, he always thinks, for the briefest second, that they are real. He keeps his eyes forward so he isn't surprised by anything else.

Max is almost to the the flat lands, where he can really open up and go, when he feels a searing hot pain in his right shoulder. He cries out and the bike fishtails dangerously, but Max recovers and doesn’t falter in his course. Stopping now would mean certain death. He ignores the way his right hand is suddenly weak and how his back is wet. He hasn’t fallen over, so it must not be too bad. Glory giggles from somewhere behind him. He usually doesn’t think ill of children, but he might make an exception for Glory.

Once he’s out in the open, the bullets stop and a quick glance behind shows no signs of pursuit. As soon as he can, he swings behind a ridge and ignores the slight dizziness he feels once he stops. Then he looks down and sees blood slowly dripping over the edge of his seat.

“Fuck,” he curses and grips the handlebars tighter.

Max lets out a sigh. He stows the tool bag that he somehow managed not to drop and carefully feels around his shoulder with his left hand. His fingers brush over what is definitely an entry wound and he already knows there is no exit wound on the front.

“Fuck!”

As much as he doesn’t want to, he knows a trip to the Citadel in inevitable now. He could find a small cave, wait it out, and see how things go. Although, he just needs to look down to see what happens when he tries to care for his own gunshot wounds, and he doesn’t trust any other settlement enough to seek willingly the medical attention he needs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Max takes several calming breaths (he ignores the continuing lightheadedness from the blood loss) before gunning the throttle. He has several hours ride ahead of him and a questionable amount of time left; he really has no idea about the state inside beyond that it missed anything critically vital. So long as he doesn’t meet any Buzzards, he should reach the Citadel by nightfall. As he rides, he takes small comfort in the fact his ghosts have suddenly taken to silently stalking his periphery.

Most of the journey is a blur. Max is so focused on just staying upright and getting to the Citadel that he isn’t really paying attention to anything else. Lucky for him, no one is paying him any mind either. He makes better time than he thinks and rolls in an hour before dark. 

Max is surprised to find that he receives little resistance when he pulls up, a pair of War Boys escorting him in and the crowd parting neatly before them. When he sees the platform lowering with Furiosa and Cheedo on it, he suddenly understands. They probably saw him coming in from several miles away. Cheedo has an obvious look of worry on her face while Furiosa just looks stern. He can see it in her eyes, though, and the way she holds her body; she is just as concerned, if not more, at the state of Max upon his return. 

Once the platform hits ground, he staggers off his bike to walk it the rest of the way, but only manages a few steps before collapsing to the ground. He’s vaguely aware of someone shouting, then people poking and prodding him. For a few brief minutes, he feels as if he is floating, then everything is darkness.

——————-

He awakes in the middle of the night to find a bandage wrapped around his shoulder and chest. Max can also feel a small bandage wrapped snuggly around his elbow and he wonders if they gave him a blood transfusion or some fluids for all the blood loss. Someone has taken the liberty of not only changing his clothes but also giving him a rough scrub down, if the itchy-clean feeling of his skin is to be believed. A quick glance to the left finds his clothes (clean) and other belongings on the second bed.

Max notices then that he’s in the same room Furiosa was in. He also notices that she is sitting in the dark corner by his bed, staring. He’s still vaguely lightheaded but feels better than he did out on the road so he doubts she is only in his brain. Besides, his demons are strangely absent.

“Who’d you piss off this time?” she asks, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. She plays with the stub of her arm, not wanting to look him in the eye.

Max finds it odd that she isn’t wearing a prosthetic (he thinks her remembers seeing one earlier) but ignores her and tries to sit up. He groans, only making it a few inches off the bed, then decides to lie back down.

A huff of laughter comes from the corner. “I wouldn’t do that yet if I were you. You lost a lot of blood. We didn't have any O-neg donors who could donate so we could only give you salt water.”

Max grunts and tries again, making sure this time that his left arm is squarely under him, and moves slowly. 

“You’re damn lucky, you know that?” Furiosa finally looks up at him. She watches him struggle up but knows better than to help him unless he asks. Instead, she continues. “Looks like the bullet was from a .22 long rifle. Shooter must have been at the end of their range because it didn't manage to go very deep. Got lodged in your muscle and made everything a bloody mess, but you’ll survive. You should take it easy, though, until it’s healed.” She adds the last bit because she needs to but knows that actual compliance is unlikely.

Once he’s up, he rolls his eyes at her and finally gives her a good onceover. On the outside, her injuries look healed. In the dim light, he can see her bruises are nearly resolved, just a tinge of green and yellow left, and all the swelling is gone. He can tell her ribs still bother her, but those take weeks and weeks to heal so he isn't surprised. He feels the tiniest bit sorry over that but broken ribs are preferable to the alternative. She looks exhausted, though. Not the kind that says that she has been up long hours today because of him, but the kind as if she hasn't been getting enough good sleep. He wonders if maybe she has nightmares too.

“How long will you stay?” she asks in a whisper.

For a moment, Max wonders if she even asked it, but she keeps eye contact with him, waiting for an answer. The room is too dark for him to see her face properly, but there is something in her tone that Max can’t quite put his finger on. He knows that she won’t judge him for whatever time he does or does not want to remain, but there is still something in her voice. He thinks it may be hope. It also isn't lost on him that the question implies he will leave versus asking if he will simply stay.

“War Rig’s intact and salvageable,” he replies instead of answering her question. His voice is gravelly from disuse and the grogginess leftover from whatever they gave him when they took the bullet out. He can feel sleep pulling him reluctantly back down so he scoots back and leans his head against the wall.

Furiosa nods but doesn't ask again. She sits there until his gentle snores are reverberating off the walls. At least she knows he’s getting a small amount of decent sleep. She gets up as quietly as she can and heads back to her own quarters, giving Cheedo a nod on her way out.

By the time the sun rises the next morning, Max and his bike are gone.

——————-

Max rides as far as he can before fatigue forces him to camp about half a day’s ride northeast of the Citadel. He doesn’t want to stay there but he isn't stupid enough to think he might not need more help. Even as it is, if something serious happens, he probably won’t make it back in time. He decides to give it a week before he moves on.

It isn't until the sores on his leg begin to heal three days later, that he realizes that not only has his brace been cleaned but it has been repaired too. If he is honest with himself, it works better than it has in years. The brace isn’t exactly a complicated piece of machinery. When he gives it a closer look later than night, he can tell someone with a good grasp on fine motor movement has handled it. There’s no quick dusting and an application of used motor oil to lube the joints but actual deep cleaning to remove the desert from it and what can only be gun oil or something similar to lubricate the moving parts. The longer he stares at it, the louder the whispers from his ghosts get.

Max leaves the next day, heading farther northeast than he has ever been.

——————-

Its forty-seven days before Max finds himself back in the neighborhood of the Citadel, and he stands perched along a ridge overlooking the canyon. He unconsciously flexes his right hand at the sight. He’s managed to avoid infection in the days after but regaining normal muscle function is taking longer than he’d like. As he stares into the distance, he isn't surprised to see the route out east is open again. He climbs back on his bike and travels south, being sure to stay as far away from the Citadel as he can. He ignores the way Glory pouts, screams, and constantly runs in front of his bike; he has his own plans in mind.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is another chapter for your viewing pleasure. Unusual for me, but I have actually created bit of an outline for this fic instead of writing by the seat of my pants like I tend to do. With that in mind, updates might be a bit more spaced out as I make sure that I am following the general timeline I have created. I might also be smoking crack and things will come just as fast now that I have a plan. Just feel the need to keep everyone up to date :)
> 
> Also, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! :D
> 
> (p.s. Sorry if you got notifications for multiple chapters today. At first I thought I didn't post a chapter, so I did, then realized after that AO3 had made a second copy, as a draft, of a chapter I had already posted. So it's just this one today.)

Furiosa hangs her head in frustration; she is so done with playing peacemaker. She didn't sleep well the night before, her nightmares being especially belligerent, and the fatigue from her general insomnia is finally catching up with her. Her newest dreams involve Max and Joe spiraling around her, telling her how wrong she is and how she is failing and no matter what she does the Sisters fall and all of the Vuvalini die and how it is all her fault;  _ she’s _ the one who killed the world. She always wakes up gasping and drenched in sweat, a knife already drawn to take out Immortan Joe again.

She takes a breath and lifts her head before looking back at the men standing behind the podium. This is the third argument in as many days about food. After three months, they finally have enough that they can share a meal, once a day, with everyone. It seems, though, that there is always someone who thinks they deserve more or someone else deserves less. Regardless, the Council has set up that  _ anyone _ within the Citadel in the evening would have access to a meal. The portions are still meager and not especially varied, but its food and far more than most have had in their entire lives.

It’s times like this that she is glad that a council rose up in the wake of Joe’s death and that no one had placed her into a sole ruling position. She knows that there were a few who thought to push it, but the reality of it is that she had been too weak for too long afterwards for it to have been feasible. Someone would have still been acting as a go-between and, even now, she isn't interested in hero worship like Joe was. She knows she would have done the job well, not wanting in any way to become the new Immortan, but she most certainly wouldn’t have enjoyed it and doing it every day, instead of on rotation, would have driven her mad. 

Like now.

Furiosa appreciates that a Voices Council has been set up for anyone to be able to bring an issue up with the Council, but she is feeling especially short-fused today and has had enough of it. The bickering in front of her continues so Furiosa slams her prosthetic hand down, hard, on the table.

“Enough!”

The two men at the podium go silent and everyone in the room looks at Furiosa.

“Do you enjoy having food?”

It takes a few seconds, but eventually everyone is nodding.

“Do you want to continue enjoying food?”

Again, everyone nods in the affirmative.

“Then stop bothering us about it,” Furiosa grits out through her teeth. 

She takes a minute and eventually lets out a breath she doesn't even realize she’s holding. Furiosa always feels guilty when she snaps at people for stupid reasons. As awful as Joe and his ways were, there was something simpler about being able to smack a War Boy upside the head when they did or said something stupid and the blind way they accepted that how things were was for the good of everyone (and sometime they really were). 

“Sorry. We are building up our supply as fast as we can,” Furiosa continues, her voice gentler than before. “Plants only grow so fast. If we gave you everything we had, without saving some for more plantings then there would be nothing left. Do you understand?”

No one says anything at first; she is, after all, still Imperator Furiosa to most of them. She’s told everyone to simply call her Furiosa, or if they want a title, then to call her Boss. But it doesn’t matter that the title and that particular position in the hierarchy are gone, everyone still knows what it took to get  _ that _ title, and no one is going to go against her. Eventually, it’s one of the women in the back that answers.

“We understand.” She gives a glare to one of the men at the podium. “Not everyone does, but we do. We’ll try to spread the word better.”

The woman gives a small nod to Furiosa then all but pulls the men out of there. Furiosa thinks she hears one of the men get smacked as they turn the corner and she can’t help the small smile that plays across her lips. Guess some things are just human nature. It relaxes her some to see people that, three months ago, were wild enough to tear Joe to pieces, become more human again with the right treatment.

Now, as she watches the next set of people step up to the podium, she hopes can just make it through the rest of the day.

——————-

“The point of the Voice Council is to listen, not scare the wits out of the People.” Capable stands in the doorway to Furiosa’s quarters, arms folded across her chest.

“I didn't threaten them,” says Furiosa, not bothering to look up from the paperwork on her desk. It’s not exactly what Capable is saying but technically true nonetheless.

“But you’re not supposed to yell at them either.” Capable takes a tentative step closer. Furiosa hasn’t been the same since she’d turned east all those days ago and found out that not only was the Green Place gone but so were most of her people. Capable isn't sure what it is, but she knows something isn’t right.

Furiosa sits in silence, faithfully writing notes in the ledgers. “They were just talking in circles. I was done with it.”

“But that isn’t how things are done now.” The  _ this isn't Joe’s world anymore  _ left out but there all the same.

Flesh fingers tighten around her pen but Furiosa bites her tongue. The Sisters are one of the few people who still talk to her and it wouldn't do to alienate them, too.

“Listen,” Capable starts after several minutes of silence, “why don’t you take a break? You’ve been working non-stop since I let you out of the infirmary and everyone nee—”

“No!” Furiosa snaps. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Her voice is calmer when she continues. “I’m fine. There is still so much to do.” She continues writing and ignores Capable.

Capable purses her lips but says nothing. She gives Furiosa one last look before turning to leave, shutting the door perhaps a bit more firmly than is needed. Furiosa is definitely overworked at the least and maybe a bit unstable from all she has been through at the worst. Moreover, Capable knows Furiosa isn’t someone that you can bully into compliance, nor can she be talked into it. No, this is going to a take a fight and Capable isn't looking forward to it. Not one bit.

——————-

Two weeks later, Furiosa is speeding out the gates in one of the recently repaired pursuit vehicles with a full tank of guzzoline and enough rations to last a few days. 

She is done with listening.

She is done with bargaining.

She is most definitely done with people. 

She knows it’s irresponsible, childish, and a waste of resources but she’s starting to feel trapped again and a trapped Furiosa is worse than a frustrated one. The handful of supply runs they’ve managed aren't enough to give her the space she needs to cope with being stuck inside the Citadel, a place still too full of negative emotions to be somewhere she is completely comfortable. She hopes that a few days alone in the desert is enough to reset herself.

***

Capable stands up in the Council Room, watching through the mouth of Joe’s Skull as a car leaves a trail of dust away from the city. She knows it’s Furiosa, even before the War Pup bursts into the room several minutes later to tell her.

“Should we send someone after?” Cheedo asks from where she sits in the corner of the room, her voice full of obvious concern.

“No point,” comes a gravelly voice from the doorway. Ace cautiously steps into the room, unsure about being in a place he’s only occupied a handful of times under Joe, before continuing. “She's drivin’ the fastest car we got and with the sun settin’ soon we'll never find ‘er.”

The rest of the women in the room look to Capable in question and she simply nods in agreement.

“Ace’s right. Let her go.”

Ace nods back, glad that he doesn't need to fight for the Boss. He'd seen her tossing things into the car but had given only a half-hearted attempt to stop her. He  _ knows _ she needs this more than anyone does. 

He turns to leave but calls back over his shoulder. “Don't worry, she'll be back.” Without waiting for a reply, he walks out and heads back to the garages.

***

Furiosa drives for hours before turning around and eventually camps about an hour outside the city. It's near midnight and, for once, sleep claims her quickly and she falls into a light but dreamless sleep. In the morning, she already feels better even though this does nothing to change things inside the Citadel. 

The day is spent racing around and tinkering with the modifications on the car. There are a few bugs that just couldn't be worked out sitting in the shop and she even comes up with some new ideas. Despite how much fun she is having, Furiosa returns just as the sun is beginning to set behind the hills.

As the platform nears the garage, Furiosa can see a livid Capable waiting for her. Furiosa glares right back, daring her to say anything. Once the car is parked in its bay, she goes about her business of putting away her tools and rounding up her gear as if it is just another normal day in the Citadel. 

“Car runs good now,” Furiosa says into the silence only once she finishes.

“Wonderful,” replies Capable before she turns on her heel and marches off. Stewing all night about the situation has simply turned Capable’s concern into anger, no matter how much she knows it shouldn't.

Furiosa shrugs and grabs her bag. Whether she wants to admit it or not, spending all day driving and sitting in the sun has taken it out of her. The openness of the Wastelands is glorious, but as she makes her way to her quarters, she also can’t deny the advantages of a good bed.

——————-

When, at the next council meeting, Capable suggests that they form an actual guild for the garage and mechanics, Furiosa isn't surprised.

“I think it would be beneficial, especially with all the recently salvaged vehicles from the canyon, to have a single person who can direct the workflow and manage resources. Someone who can then report to the Council about what we have and what our status is. They’d also work with the War Boys on setting up protection during trading runs.”

_ Don't forget trying to keep me in line and from rushing out more _ , Furiosa thinks.

Capable pauses for a moment and makes eye contact with all those in the room, except Furiosa who is intently inspecting her fingernails. She can see thoughtful looks and lets her words sink in for a few minutes.

After Max let Furiosa know that the wreckage was still there, they were able to salvage most of the vehicles, including the War Rig, from the pass. Unfortunately, most of it has been sitting idle while other more important jobs are completed first. In reality though, if they want any hope of maintaining their newfound freedom, a functioning pursuit and war party is necessary.

“We can decide later if this is a rotational position or one that is achieved by promotion, but to start,” Capable pauses again for just a breath. “I'd like to nominate Furiosa as the first Blackthumb.”

Furiosa’s head snaps up at hearing her name.

“Me?” Furiosa asks in genuine surprise; it certainly isn't expected.

The corner of Capable’s mouth quirks up at catching Furiosa off guard. “Unless you can recommend someone else? Out of everyone left at the Citadel, you, by far, have the most experience and first-hand knowledge of the vehicles.”

“Ace would also be a good choice,” Furiosa replies honestly without even thinking. “If he was a full-life, Joe would have likely made him an Imperator. As it is, he's the oldest half-life even before Joe emptied the Citadel.”

“Should we put it to a vote, then?” Capable asks the group. While  _ she  _ would much prefer Furiosa to a War Boy she barely knows, she is happy to see that Furiosa isn't interested in taking power for herself. Not that Capable fears it, but that virtue is the main uniting feature of every person on the Council.

“If it’s all the same to everyone else,” Lacta, one of the Milking Mothers chimes in, “I think we should start with Furiosa and, once things are settled, if this War Boy looks to be a good choice we can put a vote to it. Decide then too how the position should be passed on.”

No one answers immediately but Capable can see heads nodding. No outright denials at least.

“All in favor?” she asks and raises her hand. She is happy to see that everyone raises theirs as well.

“Furiosa?” Capable turns to the woman. 

Furiosa’s brow furrows just a bit. She really wants it; it’s, more or less, what she was doing before, just with the entire fleet as opposed to her War Rig crew. “Can I think on it overnight and let Capable know in the morning?”

There is chorus of replies in the affirmative. Capable just nods and leaves a puzzled Furiosa lost in thought as she continues with the meeting.

Later that night, Capable stops by Furiosa’s room.

“Why?” Furiosa asks, the confusion seeping out of every pore. “After all the shit I pull with you, why give me this?”

Capable is actually taken aback that this is the reason for her reluctance. She never thought Furiosa one to doubt her abilities or worthiness to get a job done.

“Why? Because you truly are the best. I suspected that your Ace would also be a good candidate, but I can’t say that I know him well enough.”

Furiosa just rolls her eyes. She knows that making friends amongst Joe’s former minions, even the now reformed ones, hasn't been easy or high on either side’s priority lists.

“And you deserve it too. It will get you out of the jobs you hate like the Voice Council and let you use your strengths. Once the wall is finished, we’re going to create a check station for all incoming persons. You’ll probably rotate through there instead.” Capable shrugged. “At least there, if you come across someone hostile, I don't care what actions you deem necessary so long as the city is safe.”

Furiosa huffs a laugh. Guard duty and cars are two things she can definitely handle. She realizes now that Capable is trying to give her an out. Something that still keeps her within the general circle of leadership but lets her put her particular skill set to use.

“Alright then, I accept.” Furiosa holds her hand out to Capable.

“Good.” Capable smiles as she clasps hands with Furiosa, the first official Blackthumb. “Job starts tomorrow.”


	7. Chapter 7

Furiosa is on her way to the mess hall after spending half her day sorting out a particularly nasty disagreement between a few of the War Boys. Now, she just wants to sit down for ten minutes and  _ eat _ something. She comes around the corner and freezes; there are raised voices up ahead and she  _ really  _ doesn't want to deal with this right now. Furiosa takes a big, calming breath before marching forward and stops at the edge of the circle. She’s just tall enough to see Ace stepping in between a War Boy and an outsider.

“Kami-krazee feral wastelander!” the War Boy bites out past Ace and sends a volley of spit with it.

A growl is the only answer to the insult before the two start to go at each other again. Ace grabs the outsider, pulling him back, while another Boy grabs the one that’s trying to fight. It’s more than sufficient to send Furiosa over the edge.

“ENOUGH!” she bellows and every one stops. Furiosa steps through the crowd and asks, “ _ What _ is going on here?” 

Everyone starts reciting their version of the events at once.

“STOP!” Everyone fall silent again. “Everyone move out unless you’re  _ directly _ involved in this.”

The crowd grumbles but Furiosa is happy to see everyone walking away towards the mess hall or back to wherever they were headed. Once she is satisfied that there are no hangers-on, Furiosa finally turns to the small knot of people left and gets her first good look at them. Ace has the two men up on their toes, each with an ear twisted in one of Ace’s gnarled hands. It’s a bit comical really. When she finally see  _ who _ is involved, though, her jaws drops and she isn't sure she believes her eyes.

“Max?” Furiosa takes a step towards him. “Is it really you?” 

A grunt is all the reply Max gives as he dances to lessen the pain on the sensitive flesh of his ear.

Furiosa gives him a brief smile but can see that he’s teetering on the edge of feral. No doubt, all the people milling about and now the restraint are amping him up, but something holds him back. She appreciates it (she’s seen him fight feral) but she’s not going to excuse all this because of his history. She knows he can be a human being, too. Her face returns to serious.

“So what this all about? Rust? Max?” Furiosa looks at each of them in turn but neither offer up an answer. 

Ace gives them each a good pinch and they cry out, but, still, neither speaks.

“You,” she says looking at Rust, her patience pretty much gone, “know the rules.” She turns to Max. “And I would expect you to figure them out quick enough.”

Max, at least, gives her a half-hearted shrug in answer.

“Well someone better give me something or both of you will be out on your asses  _ outside  _ the walls until this is settled.” Furiosa watches as each contemplates this option verses talking, Ace lifting his arms up just the tiniest bit more. Max breaks first.

“Rude,” Max mumbles.

Furiosa crosses her arms. She knows he has more words than that and she’s willing to wait.

“He,” Max starts again, turning the words over in his mouth. “He was rude... to them.”

“Rude?” Rust tries to face Max but Ace’s hold is firm. “I was just talkin’! You’re the one that acted like a feral!”

Max growls as he tries to turn towards Rust, too.

“BOYS!”

They both stop, faces grimaced in pain and practically going limp in Ace’s grasp.

Furiosa smirks, watching Ace correct them again, then nods. He releases them and they both spring out of arm’s reach.

“Now give me a good reason not to toss you both out into the desert.” When they both hasten to open their mouths, she adds, “Not excuses, but a good solid reason for you to be acting like Pups.” She fixes them with her sternest Imperator glare and they both shrink back down.

Max frowns when he feels someone press up first along one side, then the other. He looks down to see why he came to the Citadel at all, the reason he’s even come in this far. He looks up and sees Furiosa notice as well.

“Found ‘um,” Max says as he rests a hand on the shoulders of the children holding tight to his middle. “Had to take ‘um… mmm... somewhere safe…hmmm, somewhere protected.” Max twists his head towards Rust and glares. “Rude to  _ her _ .”

Furiosa looks to Rust but he says nothing to defend himself and keeps his gaze fixed on his feet so she knows it must be true. The Boys are trying to follow the new rules of conduct, but it’s hard, especially for the older ones, and they fumble as often as they excel. She looks at the girl, not much younger than Furiosa when she was taken, and can guess at the ‘rude’ things Rust said. The boy is maybe half her age and giving them all a fierce glare as if daring her to toss them out. She nods.

“Rust.”

The War Boy jumps a little at hearing Furiosa bark his name before he looks up at Furiosa.

“I want you in the garage at first light tomorrow. I’ve got some work for you to do.” Furiosa knows he’s on night watch tonight.

Rust mumbles something under his breath but doesn't actually argue.

“What was that?  
  
“Nothing, Boss” he’s quick to say. “I’ll be there.”

“Max.”

Max just stands there, ready to accept his sentence. Fights are against the rule in most places these days and he knows he broke them. He just hopes the children can still stay.

Furiosa lets out a sigh. “I’m afraid you can’t stay, for the night at least. You can still get a meal but you have to leave right after. Citadel rules.”

Max nods. “Kids?” he asks. 

“They can stay.”

Max breathes a sigh of relief. “Good.” They both know that the life of a Road Warrior is no life for children.

“Now, if you two can behave, we can go eat,” Furiosa looks between the two and is happy to see them both nod in agreement. “Good.”

Furiosa lifts her arms and waves towards the mess hall indicating they should all make their way there. Ace gives her one more nod before steering Rust towards a table full of other War Boys. Furiosa first takes the trio to get plates of food then manages to get the children to sit at a table with a few of the Milking Mothers. 

Once they are alone, they find a quiet corner of the hall to sit down. Even though it’s the end of dinner and the hall is half-empty, she can see the restlessness in Max still simmering below the surface at the number of people present. Max calms a bit in the quiet alcove and the pair eats in silence. 

“Sorry about having to kick you out,” she finally says, using the last of her bread to wipe up the residual stew.

“Eh,” Max grunts. He understands; he knows how things work.

They fall quiet again. Furiosa contemplating which of the many things she wants to say but doesn't know how to start and Max’s still in awe of the quiet inside his mind while around her. 

“Boss.”

Furiosa looks up to see Ace there.

“Time to go.”

Furiosa nods and they both stand up. Furiosa disappears into the kitchens with their stacked plates. She reappears a few minutes later and they snake their way through the maze of tunnels until they reach the bottom.

They find Max’s bike in one of the guest garages and Ace busies himself with something in a far corner while Furiosa makes sure he is loaded up with water, guzzoline, and whatever supplies she can scrounge up. They all know that this isn’t what typically happens to outsiders who are being evicted for breaking the rules, but this is  _ Max _ and Furiosa will be damned if he leaves without something for his efforts.

Max even smiles when he notices her sneaking in a bunch of food into the panniers.

Once she’s done, Max climbs on board and gives her another wordless nod before kicking the bike to life and riding back out into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are always appreciated here or on my [Tumblr](http://yourdykeinshiningarmor.tumblr.com/).


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